Fox Hunting
by milkmoth
Summary: A mysterious Miss Haruhi Fujioka arrives at the troubled Ohtori manor just in time for the fox hunting season. KyouHaru and love triangles; Regency setting. INCOMPLETE.
1. The Third Son

She catches his eye right away (never a positive thing, as the men in his circle know) and he examines her as he examines any specimen that falls under his lens.

She's curious: mostly because he's never seen her before, but also because some nonsensical, fantastical notion suggests that she is too golden to belong here in the Ohtori family's halls. Something in her eyes. When she turns to look out the window he can see, predictably, how large and clear and innocent they are: the sun fills them like it knows her, lightening them, warming them from within as they do her skin and her glossy hair and her yellow dress. They lighten from a brown the color of chocolate to a near-yellow the color of the sun.

The pounding of his headache becomes rhythmic, a drum interrupting still._ March._ He rummages through his mental checklist. The Underwood daughter that only just recovered from her illness? Cecily? _No, no_ – could she be one of his sister's friends, or a relation of one? Doubtful – Fuyumi is still vacationing in Bath, celebrating the plump ring on her finger.

Shadows creep into the brunette's small patch of personal sunlight; two auburn men flank her on either side, hovering almost to the point of touching, almost to the point of taking her arms. Their fair hair shines dim. With their presence they guide her away, and though Kyouya cranes his neck in the most dignified and inconspicuous manner possible, they leave the hall, out of his sight from up the staircase. The headache pounds. The draft from the window chills his fingers

It's snowing outside, but it should be melted soon enough to leave mud for the fox hunt. His brother will be displeased, but Akito has no say in whether to be pleased or not – the guests will flood the manor halls at his invitation. Even his brother, uptight as ever, cannot stop mud from being mud.

The twins are early, Kyouya notes, and he steps downstairs under this pretense to discover the truth of the girl's presence. It would not do, after all, to have an unchaperoned young heiress ruined at the Ohtori estate.

* * *

"She's your kin?"

"Correct," chimes the one on the right, as he falls into Kyouya's father's favorite chair (the one at the front of the room, looking grand as a throne and rigid as an iron maiden). He squirms as though he's fallen into a bed of pins, or onto a marble slab. Kyouya suppresses a smirk, although it's momentary. He came here with the sternest of intentions, after all.

He can't see the difference between one and the other, only that he knows the Hitachiin twins well – friends of a friend's, fellow gentry, et cetera. He examines this one of the pair until the twin gives in.

"Our third cousin in fact, somewhere on our mother's side. It's Hikaru."

"Kaoru," says the second twin, from behind Kyouya. This is important. One is mister and one is lord. It seems to all outsiders that, from the close-knit bond, the title wouldn't elevate the elder higher than the younger, but Kyouya must keep these things in line. He makes it his business.

"I see," Kyouya replies, although he doesn't. "And she came her under your care… Lord Hitachiin?"

He must sound dubious, because he can practically feel Kaoru, behind him, rolling his eyes. Hikaru looks tempted to do the same. Without looking behind him, Kyouya clears his throat.

Hikaru sighs. _Lord Hitachiin_ – how much smarmier could Kyouya Ohtori get? Irritation bubbles up – why should he explain himself to Kyouya Ohotori, third son and barrister? – but the answer is swift: Kyouya Ohtori was also his senior at Eton, a man worthy of the intimidation he's cultivated in circles across England. There's little doubt that, even with limited influence to begin with, he will carve a niche for himself in society. His intelligence, though outdone by his elder brother's temper, is already whispered about. But he won't let Ohtori know that. No need to stroke his already-sleek ego.

"Her father came, but he left her in the house when he came. Said he wasn't welcome, and that he needed to return to work in town. Mother – our mother, that is - was supposed to arrive yesterday, but something must've held her." Kaoru sounds bored, unconcerned.  
"Who is this third cousin of yours?"

"Miss Fujioka. Miss Haruhi Fujioka."

Kyouya turns to face him. Hikaru may be wrong but – does Kyouya look relieved? Probably because she's a commoner. Because she's nothing to worry about. Hikaru lets a smile play on his lips, making it just visible enough that Kyouya will notice it when he turns to look at him again.

"Very well, then. If your mother does not come to claim her by tomorrow – at which point guests will begin to come – then I will have to implore Tachibana's wife to bring her back. I cannot have a guest cooped in her room for the holiday; nor can I rightfully keep her here unattended. She must be with her father – Mister Fujioka."

"Ryoji Fujioka," Kaoru pipes in. Hikaru finishes. The lines of Kyouya's mouth pull down ever-so-slightly – but no, he doesn't frown – and he leaves the room.

"Tomorrow," he adds. He opens the door and nods for them to leave. Kaoru grumbles as he rises from Yoshio's chair – mumbling like a sore old man – and Hikaru nods cheerfully (dare he say facetiously) at his host before exiting. The two strides fall together.

"I wonder if he'll even have lit the fires in our rooms, the cheap bastard."

"Hikaru," Kaoru says mock-gravely, "Every man in town knows Lord Ohtori spends his every waking moment at White's. We would know – we spend our every waking moment there. Smart fellow, and all – mind, not pleasant to be around; he's uptight as a – well. And I know our own mother wouldn't believe us if we told her, but every man who counts in town knows it. It's no wonder if they cut costs by skipping on fires for early guests."

"I think Ohtori's socking away bits and pieces for himself."

"Nah, I don't think that's it. Know it's something, though. Not only's Kyouya Ohtori a cheap bastard when it comes to people he doesn't have to impress, he's one tricky bastard all the time. He doesn't have to fall back on anything as blatant as that."

Hikaru catches a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eyes that make him smile. He winks at Kaoru, and Kaoru winks back. He raises his voice, just enough to be heard. "Suppose murder'd be too blatant, as well."

Kaoru gasps a long gasp, stopping short as Hikaru walks on. Hikaru turns his head slowly.

"But you don't mean…?"

"Yes! Lord Yuuichi Ohtori's death last winter was certainly the work of poison!"

The two gasp in unison. One. .

"H-how – how could you!" The eloquent sputters fly forth. "To poor Kyouya! Goodness! The two of you certainly belong in… in…! Flights of fancy such as this – why, they drive me to despair for humankind as we know it! All this talk of compassion, enlightenment – where have our advancements gone, when an innocent man may be mentioned in the same utterance as the the most wild, unsubstantiated claims!"

"Ah! Welcome back, Lord Suoh." Kaoru bowed. The two sly grins came simultaneously. Tamaki's cheeks are red, his golden hair windswept, his blue eyes wide. His coats are still on. Not even the warmest greeting might temper the look of shock in his eyes.

"How could you! When Kyouya is generous enough to welcome you to his family's home! What happened was merely pneumonia; a long, slow death, to be sure but a natural one! One in which the Creator ripped a dear brother, a beloved husband, from the world in which he was so cared for; leaving behind a grieving father, brothers, a wife and children… and you would shame their uncle by mentioning his name in the same utterance as-"

"We understand," Hikaru said. The look on Tamaki's face outweighed his irritation. "All right, so Ohtori's not a murderer. Understood. Explain me this though, Lord Suoh, since you are so close to him." He leans on Tamaki's shoulder, a mocking-but-friendly gesture.

"Why would he take care of the family account if he isn't gaining some devious reward on the side for his efforts?"

Tamaki flicks the twins away with grandiose, almost frantic, snap of his hand. "Away! Demons! Leave me be! If your rooms don't have fires in them, there's no wonder! Kyouya is cursed to have such friends as you!"

"And where is your room, Lord Suoh?"

He looks around, then points triumphantly. "There! Goodbye, gentlemen, and goodnight! I shall see you at dinner!" With a pronounced click, Tamaki leaves them in the hallway, while they grin at each other like lunatics.

A sad moan comes from Tamaki's room, and he promptly opens the door, staggers out.

"There's no fire! Kyouyaaaaa, I thought we were friiiieeeeends!"

It is at this moment that a head pokes out of the room. "Excuse me, did you happen to see my glove? Oh. Hello."

Tamaki stands there for a full fifty seconds, stunned. Big brown eyes look up at him expectantly from the doorway.

"I- I – just went into this lady's room – and she's…. she's…"

"Only wearing one glove," Hikaru says dryly, "Oh my."

Tamaki sounds sick. "Not right! Not-not gentlemanly to enter a lady's chamber!"

The twins give one another looks, unsure whether Tamaki's tomato-colored cheeks are thanks to embarrassment or fluster over the girl before him.

"Miss, I'm so sorry. H-How may I make up to you the fact that I have so defiled your honor? Your maidenly virtue? How may I atone?!"

Haruhi blinks. Her eyebrows knit together in a look of disbelief. "Atone? You haven't defiled anything. If you haven't seen my glove, I guess that I'll check under the bed."

She's being perfectly polite, but Tamaki hears her dismissal as one of disapproval. He moans a low moan when the door once again clicks shut.

The door opens again and she sticks her head out.

"What time is supper?"

"Seven," Kaoru replies promptly.

"All right. Thank you."

And the door shuts again.

"_What shall I do now?!_"

"Lord Suoh," Kaoru pipes up, "Aren't you fairly betrothed?"

It's a mistake to bring it up, even in jest. Tamaki's face falls, pale now instead of red. "Yes. Goodness, yes. Oh my Lord. I have been unfaithful! I am undone! I am no longer a gentleman-"

"You're not so much as engaged yet," Kaoru says quickly, retracting his taunt for fear that a second soliloquy should follow. "And she couldn't object to an accident, certainly not one so innocent as this." _Although she would_. Tamaki's blue-eyed coquette may as well have the green eyes of jealousy, for all she acted._ Perhaps it's the French blood_, he thinks, _that makes them take things so seriously. Perhaps it's a uniquely French temperament._ But it was difficult to put Tamaki in the same box as Lady Éclair Tonnere, even lightly. They were different breeds; different species even – the wolf and the hound.

They shrug their shoulders at each other as Tamaki staggers off, mumbling something about finding Kyouya and learning the name of the damsel whom he has so wronged, the image of her delicate, white, ungloved hand burned into his mind.

* * *

The twins convinced the girl to stay in her room, but now the hall is swelling with guests and music, and Kyouya is hardly in the mood to spare them.

"You mother has not arrived," he points out, coming to Kaoru's side as if out of nowhere. It's one of his many talents, useful in acts of intimidation.

"No," Kaoru admits, "I noticed she hadn't." He smiles at Kyouya but his eyes are following a woman. "Ugh. Could her dress possibly be any shabbier? I saw more fashionable gowns in London three Seasons ago."

"Don't be evasive. I know you've a talent for it, but we have a deal. Tachibana's wife is ready to assist her. Her bags are packed, I hope?"

"Miss Fujioka is not going anywhere," Kaoru answered pertly, "And I think you'll know why shortly."

Kyouya just stares back at him stonily.

"Why?"

Kaoru nods behind Kyouya, and Kyouya turns. The string players have just finished a song, and amidst the change of partners and the bustle of the floor, Tamaki is waving and frantically trying to weave his way through the crowd. This is made more difficult in that, for every word or greeting volleyed at him, Tamaki must respond (if briefly) in kind.

"Thank you - yes, a good horse, I think - a merry Christmas to you, as well, Lady Merriweather - Kyouya! My friend, my friend! How good of you to have me! But first, you must know that there was no fire alight in my room when I entered-"

"Tamaki, if you'd please excuse me, I'm speaking with Mister Hitachiin about a matter more important than whether your toes are cold-"

"Fine! Then I shall cut to the chase! Kyouya-" here Tamaki leans in, and there's an earnestness in them that makes Kyouya's gut twist in anticipation of what's to come "-who is that lovely young woman who occupies the third floor guest room?"

Kyouya knows which 'lovely' young woman Tamaki speaks of.

"Miss Underwood?"

"No!"

"Miss Spencer?"

"No! No, no-"

Kaoru cuts in. "Dear me, I hope you don't mean Lady Harrow?"

Tamaki flushes. "No! No, the brunette – the young one – she wore a yellow dress – No guardian that I could see - "

"Miss Fujioka," Kyouya says, dryly, at last. Tamaki's eyes glaze over at the mention of her name.

"Miss Fujioka," he murmurs, "Miss Fujioka. Miss…. Miss…"

"Haruhi," Kyouya puts in, despite himself.

"Miss Haruhi Fujioka! What a fine young woman! I could ascertain immediately that she was of pure and noble character!"

"Pure, perhaps, but noble most certainly not."

"Kyouya! Whatever do you mean by that?"

"I mean that the Miss Fujioka you are so taken with is as common as can be. A little stain on my brother's ball. It's a surprise she came to be here at all."

The waltz playing makes it hard to hear, and Kyouya strains his ears to catch Kaoru's answer.

"She's my third my fourth. It doesn't really matter, does it? She's related to Hikaru and me somewhere on my mother's side." He grins. Devilishly. Kyouya makes a mental note that something not-quite-right is going on, and the twins are masterminding it.

"But her father is common-"

"The second son of an untitled landowner," Kaoru cuts in.

"Very well. But he lives in London year round, I take it? And not in the fashionable part of society. I live there throughout the year; I would know of him."

"Ryoji Fujioka. I'm sure you know something of him, Ohtori. Knowing you."

Kyouya cocks his head to the side, ponders it a moment. "Yes. I do, in fact."

Tamaki looks visibly ready to burst. "Well? What do you know of him?"

"Poor. The Fujioka family was well-off, but Fujioka's father disowned him. He managed to marry up, to a young female peer. Her family was wealthy, her father dead, her grandfather indulgent."

"Kyouya, Kaoru-" Tamaki leans in conspiratorially, and the two begrudgingly follow suit. "I have a plan."

Kaoru snorts. "I never like it when you begin with those words."

"Hush! This girl – this poor, virtuous Miss Fujioka – certainly we should not ruin her holiday! No, no matter what her history, we will not speak of it! Not to others, not among ourselves! And we will allow her dignity; allow her this one holiday, this one moment of happiness in her bleak life! We will make it joyous for her!"

"My life isn't all that bleak. I don't know what you're going on about."

Tamaki starts and draws back, slowly flushing. Miss Fujioka stands, staring with her big eyes, Hikaru just beside her. Her mouth is a thin line of irratation. Tamaki lets out a strangled little gasp. She turns to Kyouya, almost businesslike.

"Lord Ohtori-"

"Mister Ohtori," Hikaru corrects, and Kyouya thinks it no wonder that she should confuse him with Akito, since his brother has hardly been down all evening..

"Excuse me -" she says, a bit dryly. Kyouya frowns a bit at her lack of proper groveling, but her manner strikes him as logical and straightforwar "-I didn't realize. I'm prepared to leave. Lord Hitachiin told me that you needed me to go." She sounds completely unperturbed. Kyouya raises en eyebrow, but Tamaki fairly explodes.

"No, no, Kyouya will let you stay! In return-" he takes her hand swiftly and honors her with a small bow "-please allow me a dance, so I might compensate for my tactlessness!"

She blinks. "I don't know how to dance. If I'm allowed to stay, I think that I might look at the food."

Tamaki falters. "Then I shall accompany you, Miss Fujioka."

"Er, I don't need accompaniment to find food. Mister…?"

"Lord Suoh," Kyouya puts in. "Please excuse him. You're welcome to stay for as long as you like." He gives her a smile that makes her inch back. Kyouya nods his dismissal and she leaves quickly, Tamaki following her like a puppy.

"You're scaring her," Kaoru says, half-amused.

Kyouya watches as, on the other side of the hall, Tamaki pesters an unwilling Miss Fujioka. Miss Fujioka is beset upon by another guest, to whom she treats a radiant smile, perhaps cheered by the sight of refreshments. The guest - old Reverend Richards - gives her the warmest smile Kyouya has ever seen on his wizened old face. Kyouya smiles his frosty smile wider.

"Really? I'm rather fond of her."

"That's never a good sign. Do you have something in store for her? I think it's the only way you might have some fondness for her - if you had some plan for her."

Kyouya turns his chilly smile on Kaoru. "Why, none. No 'plans', as you say, at all."

"Lord Suoh's very fond of her."

"That he is."

And that is all they say of the matter, until Kyouya finds the truth.


	2. The Aspiring Governess

a/n: I just realized how many typos there are in the last chapter. Sigh. Apologies, I should fix those.

If you enjoy, review! Nice, long, detailed reviews – you don't know how much I appreciate them.

* * *

She sighed and closed her eyes, pausing outside of her door. For the first time that year, Haruhi could see her breath in the air, could feel the cold's nip on her nose. She felt it through her sleeves, under her fur-trimmed pelisse, through her mittens, and through all four of her petticoats. It whispered freedom to her. Haruhi only bobbed her head as she picked up the (three? no, four) petticoats and stepped forward onto the street. _Yes, I know, I know. Go away. _Her heart clenched.

The last day of November, bright and cold like the toll of a bell. Bells – they reminded her of church. Funerals. But never mind that - advent services would begin tomorrow, with the candles and the song. The months of cold would come. Her bones ached just thinking of it. Her stomach rumbled. Someone in the crowded London street may have noticed – although she couldn't say she much cared if they did.

Her steps added up, until she finally found what she was searching for. She paused again, this time to stare at the building before her. In only two blocks, the houses blurred from her own father's year-round, shabbily respectable brick building to this grand, molded white dwelling. She stood for a minute, adjusting her finest hat – not nervous, per se, but thinking. It was imperative that she do this correctly. That she be proper and right. It was hard for her, sometimes. She was nineteen and far from a debutante; she'd come out a year ago to as little fanfare as she could manage from her father. She hardly felt like a woman at the time: only like herself, a year older. Her father said that was because she was independent. But Haruhi wasn't so sure. Now, for the first time, she began to feel something like an _adult _ - not like a woman, with fair, faint gowns and pearls, but like someone who could do things and have an impact on the world around her. Brushing her long, straight brown hair from her face (nothing else so troublesome!) she stepped up the walkway and knocked on the door.

A man opened it.

She talked a little too fast. "Hello, my name is Haruhi Fujioka and I've been instructed to meet Lady-"

"She's gone," the man grinned, and he leaned out a little to look at her. "Miss Fujioka." The corners of his mouth twitched. "Oh, my. Miss Fujioka, is it necessary that your pelisse be such an ugly color? It's _dun."_

Haruhi blinked at this unexpected development. "Dun?" She looked down at herself. "I suppose it is. Now, have you seen-"

There was a snicker somewhere else in the room, distracting her. Haruhi's eyes flicked into the darkness, trying to see who else was there, but the man was blocking the entire doorway. She returned her eyes to his. They were an odd brown – too light, really, to be brown; more a yellow, perhaps. His hair was a mellowed orange, auburn. He was slight, for a man – on the shorter side, and thin, and there was something in the way he moved that suggested feminine flexibilty - but still much taller than her.

"I'm looking for Lady Spencer. Have you seen her? I'm visiting to apply for a governess position."

"I told you, she's gone." He sounded suddenly bored. "She already left for the country. Left Kaoru and me in charge." He smiled wickedly into the darkness. Haruhi could make out the shape of another young man there. A twin. He came to the door and waved.

"Miss Fujioka," he said, as if he knew her, "So lovely of you to come by. May I ask why your pelisse is such an ugly color?"

Haruhi frowned mildly. They could do a lot worse to her than insult her jacket, but it seemed to them the greatest weapon ever forged by a tongue.

"Well," she said, "If Lady Spencer isn't here, may I leave her a message?"

"Certainly," the twins chimed, exactly in unison. "We can give it to her."

"I would prefer to write it down."

Her pointedness failed to catch their attention.

"It's okay," they said, "you can trust us."

_I don't trust any of you rich bastards,_ she thought. "Tell her I came by, then. I would be happy to start the job on the NewYear."

She walked away. She paused, then, and, suspecting something more, looked over her shoulder. The twins were waving at her slowly and in sync, with identically eerie grins spread across their faces.

She received the envelope a week later, addressed to _Miss Fujioka _(_with the sadly deficient pelisse)._

She turned it over in her hands, observed the triangular mark of the Penny Post. Her eyebrows furrowed as her father called from the dining table. Haruhi ignored him, instead thinking carefully. They'd sent it that same morning. Perhaps they were bored. Or perhaps Lady Spencer had somehow gotten word of Haruhi, but Haruhi doubted such. The country was a long way off, and word didn't move quickly.

She tore the letter open.

_Come and meet us, White's at four,_

_Leave your manners at the door._

Haruhi stared at the paper, wondering how they could expose such horrible poetry to the light of day. Not that she could write any better.

Her father was in the room, already preparing himself for their meal. "What was that, Haruhi?"

She tucked it into her sleeve. "It was nothing. Only word from Lady Spencer. She writes that she'll speak to me when she comes back to town in May."

Her father smiled weakly. "Maybe you'll reconsider your convictions to become a governess, then." Haruhi slid back into her seat and stared at him.

"I can't," she said, "I can't possibly. You know that. I have to pay off our debts."

"_Haruhi. _Those debts are mine. Let me take care of them." The unsaid words hung in the air: _I'll take care of your dowry, even though we hardly have enough money for anything else. I'll make it for you, I'll do what it takes. _

"Father-" Haruhi chose her words carefully, hesitantly. They'd been over this before, and he just didn't seem to _understand._

She was interrupted by the cook, who served the food for lack of any more appropriate servants. She was all that was left – the cook and the maid. Their cook, Mrs. White, was terrible, but perhaps it wasn't her fault. They'd hired her when Haruhi was young, when the old cook wanted to move on to greener pastures and there was nothing left in the kitchen but dusty onions, day-old bread, and the odd bit of meat.

Ryoji shook his head and sighed dramatically. "Haruhi," he said, his voice dropping nearly to a whine, "You're my only daughter. There'll be no one and nothing left for you when I'm gone, nothing but debts and an empty house that's breaking apart-"

-a bit of plaster crumbled from the ceiling right into the green beans. Her father paid it no mind, but Haruhi was secretly miffed. She'd wanted to eat those green beans. Even though they tasted like mush-

"-husband, who will take care of you – children, who will be with you until your death as you have so dutifully been with me!" He sighed again.

"You're not dead yet, Father."

"Sssh! Trivialities!"

Haruhi stared at the ceiling as her father continued his rant. The plaster crumbled again, this time into the Sunday chicken. Haruhi sighed (a sigh much lighter than her father's) and turned her eyes toward her floor, to avoid looking at the destruction of food.

Her father mistook her downturned gaze for shame or modesty. "Good girl. So you'll agree to find a nice young man in the next couple of years, won't you?"

Haruhi's head shot up. "I'm not marrying," she said, "Father, I'm going to become a governess. I'm going to clear your debts."

Her father gave a choked, polite version of a wail. "But Haruhi! _Governess? _My daughter, shamed for her entire life by being forced to feel inferior? My debts are no problem of yours!"

With a sudden movement, Haruhi stood from the table. "I'm not getting married."

"Haruhi!"

Haruhi nearly tripped on her petticoats trying to get out of the room (curse her clumsiness!), but in the end she stood alone in her room, staring out the window.

The church bell tolled three.

Haruhi had an idea. Knew where she had to be.


End file.
